


not a force, but a consequence

by p1013



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon-typical peril, F/M, Forced Proximity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:15:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25221502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/p1013/pseuds/p1013
Summary: Heavy footsteps on wooden floorboards, the shoes thick-soled, the pace steady and confident. A woman’s voice, familiar enough that it sends relief coursing through him, followed immediately by a bone-chilling fear.Turning his head to press his forehead against the door, Derek curses. Of course she’d come for him. The idiot.
Relationships: Allison Argent/Derek Hale
Comments: 6
Kudos: 27





	not a force, but a consequence

**Author's Note:**

  * For [clotpolesonly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/clotpolesonly/gifts).



Derek isn't sure how he always ends up in these situations. It must be some kind of preternatural bad luck, maybe a curse placed on him when he was a baby by an evil fairy queen who wanted his family's land for her own.

He needs to stop hanging out with Stiles.

In any case, he shouldn't be _this_ used to being locked in a storage closet. He shouldn't know that if he leans against a series of shelves in just the right way, it won't hurt for a few hours. He shouldn't know that he can't lock his knees or he won't be fast enough to escape whenever they open the door again.

Earlier, he'd tried breaking it down, but it's reinforced with something that even his alpha strength can't break through. His shoulder will be a mass of bruises later, though those will fade while the pain remains, an echoed reminder of his inability to stay out of trouble, even when he tries to.

He doesn't even know who these hunters are, only that they surrounded his Camaro smelling of gun oil and rage, and he was unconscious before he could even think to ask what they wanted. They didn't give him much chance to talk after that, either. He woke up in the closet, his cell phone missing and his head unclear.

The hunters are talking in the other room, their voices pitched low enough that Derek can't make out their words, only their tone. Anger, a bit of fear, and some strange mix of trepidation and excitement. He's pressing his ear against the wood, hoping it'll clarify their words, when they fall silent.

Heavy footsteps on wooden floorboards, the shoes thick-soled, the pace steady and confident. A woman's voice, familiar enough that it sends relief coursing through him, followed immediately by a bone-chilling fear.

Turning his head to press his forehead against the door, Derek curses. Of course she'd come for him. The idiot.

The conversation picks up again, and as their voices rise, Derek's shoulders tense. He steps back and plants his feet, ready to spring forward at the first sign of the door opening. Footsteps draw closer, her voice clear and without a trace of fear in it, and then the door opens.

Allison's beauty strikes him like it always does. There's an immediate and visceral appreciation for the darkness of her eyes, the fullness of her lips, the gentle curve of her cheek. But then the strength overwhelms the surface, her ferocity a wild, untameable thing that makes the wolf in Derek want to howl.

That desire only grows stronger when Derek takes in the hunter standing behind her, his gun pressed to the back of Allison's head.

"No funny business, wolf," he snarls before shoving her into the closet with Derek and slamming the door shut. "Wouldn't want to hurt the negotiator!"

The man's laughter is an evil thing. Derek would snarl back if he weren't holding Allison in his arms, her hands pressed to his chest, her mouth close enough that he can taste her breath.

"What are you doing here?" he asks. He tries to take a step back, but there's nowhere to move. The shelves bite into his back painfully, and he leans into the hurt, hoping it will clear his mind. "How'd you find me?"

She takes her hands off of him and crosses her arms. Leaning back against the door, she frowns and looks away. "These idiots left a trail so obvious, even Stiles could follow it."

"Any idea why they took me?"

"Same reason anyone ever kidnaps a werewolf."

"So murder? Vengeance? A lack of forward thinking?"

She laughs, and he hates that it thrills him. "Something like that."

"What's the plan, then?" he asks, and his voice is rougher than he means it to be. It makes the smile fade from her lips, and he wishes he knew what to say to bring it back.

"Scott and the rest of the pack are circling the house. My father's got some of his buddies waiting down the road, and once I give the signal, they'll move in."

"How're you planning on giving a signal from here?"

"If Scott doesn't hear from me in twenty minutes, he's supposed to break down the front door."

The closet falls silent. Derek isn't sure what he should do now. All they have to do is wait, and the cavalry will arrive. But the closet fills with the scent of her perfume and skin, the subtle hint of coconut in her shampoo. With her nearness and Derek's continued self-recriminations, it's difficult to not want to run.

He doesn't know when it happened, when he started looking at her as more than Kate's niece or another ruthless hunter out for his people's blood. Somewhere between their first meeting — Derek all smiles and laid-back charm, Allison with her dark waterfall of hair around her shoulders, smelling of concern and confusion — and now, she's become more. More beautiful, more powerful, more integral. She is as blinding and compelling as the sun, a thing that leaves white spots in his vision no matter how hard he tries to look away.

And he tries so hard to look away. She reminds him of Kate, the way she draws him in. There's none of the calculated malice that Kate had, that razor sharp attraction she'd used to draw blood. But in the same way that Derek had been pulled into Kate's magnetic orbit, he finds himself falling closer and closer to Allison, unable to stop his inevitable crash.

He's surrounded by her smell, can feel the heat of her body so close to his, and with nothing to do but stand in it, he closes his eyes and fights for patience.

"Are you all right?" Her voice is quiet, unlike his racing heart. "Your head…"

Her touch at his temple is soft and delicate. Just a brush of fingertips against skin, more a hint of contact than an actual caress, but it rips through him like a blow. His fingers are wrapped around her wrist before he's even aware he's moving, and he knows he's holding her too tight, but he can't hold onto her any other way.

"Derek," she says, her voice still that same soft, quiet thing. Her eyes are so brown, her mouth so red. Her pulse thrums against his palm, and instead of stepping away (like she should), she steps closer. Her other hand goes to his waist, that same featherlight touch ghosting its way over the thin strip of his skin revealed by the raised hem of his shirt.

"What're you doing?"

She looks up through her lashes, corner of her mouth turned up, dimple flashing in the dim light of the closet. "Do you want me to stop?"

He doesn't answer, and she slips her hand to the small of his back. His grip on her wrist loosens, and as she pulls away, she threads her fingers through his, then lets their clasped hands fall to the side.

"Why'd you come? Why not Scott or Isaac or Boyd? Why you?"

Her hand squeezes his. Her palm presses against his back, drawing him closer like gravity.

"Because they didn't volunteer fast enough." Her foot slides between his, and when he breathes out, his chest nearly touches hers. She drops her chin, and he leans forward enough that their foreheads touch. "Because I needed to."

She shifts, her face sliding to the crook of his neck. In the stillness, they stand together. Her breath moves across the skin over his pulse, and Derek lifts his chin to pull her closer, letting her fall into him as much as he falls into her.

They almost don't notice when the front door breaks in ten minutes later, bodies pressed together, hands clasped. The frantic pounding at the door startles them from their embrace, and Derek is the first to step away. Allison turns, hands going for weapons she no longer has. Breathing deep, Derek shakes his head.

"It's Scott," he says as the doorknob turns.

The tension in Allison's shoulders eases, and she reaches back for Derek's hand again. When their fingers slip together this time, it feels natural.

It feels like home.

**Author's Note:**

> Jess, you are without a doubt one of the best things to come into my life in the last year. Your friendship has brought me so much joy, and I only hope it continues into this year and the next and the next. Happy Birthday, my dear friend.


End file.
